


Origins

by Hexmage



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen, Trans Character, in which April Dancer is a trans woman and everything is mostly fine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2015-08-16
Packaged: 2018-04-15 02:52:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4590276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hexmage/pseuds/Hexmage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Warning for some transphobia on the part of April's parents.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Origins

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for some transphobia on the part of April's parents.

April Dancer.  
That would have been her name, she was sure. Her mother had always liked month names - her little sister had been named May.  
But the name on the birth certificate, the name that she’d been called for over twenty years now was something different. She hated it and what it meant.  
Augustus Dancer.

She’d tried to explain the situation to her mother, years back. That she was a girl - that she liked girls, still - and had been met with a blank stare. Then there was yelling, screaming, _couldn’t be like that, immoral, against nature, disgusting._  
April left home soon after. On the night of her high school graduation, she’d left a note explaining that she had left as to not be a burden. That she still loved her parents.  
She’d packed her luggage and took the car that had been given to her on her 16th birthday.  
And she had never looked back.

* * *

 

Her first brush with U.N.C.L.E. had been an accident. April had been working at a small family-owned store. They didn’t ask many questions about where she came from. They called her April. (She’d said that her masculine appearance was hereditary - that her mother had had the same troubles. But she still wore scarves in the summer to hide the sign that could give her away.)  
She’d worked overtime for some spare pocket change one day. It had been dusk by the time she had left.  
A man had followed her. She had walked faster.  
So did he. More men came from the shadows. April had realized before then what precisely was going to happen. Her throat was tight and each breath was a struggle.  
She’d turned into an alley, hoping to lose them. Instead she had walked into a dead-end. April had turned, clenching her fists and preparing for the worst.

Before she could throw the first punch, there had been a soft _pop-pop-pop_ and the men clutched at their necks before falling to the dirty ground.  
“Miss, are you okay?” her savior had asked - their silhouette grey-and-black against the light of the streetlamps.  
“I... Yes.”  
“Would you, ah… like me to escort you home?” The figure had put away his gun in some sort of holster, but was keeping his distance.  
“Are they dead?” she’d blurted out, and immediately winced. Her voice had slipped into its “natural” register on the last syllable.  
The man didn’t seem to notice. “No, they’re unconscious."  
She breathed a sigh of relief but didn’t relax. Criminals were getting wiser every day - this could simply be an elaborate trap. “And _who_ are you?”  
“I’m an agent for the U.N.C.L.E.,” he replied, glancing down at the unconscious bodies, “these _fine_ gentlemen work for a crime ring.”  
“The U-N-C- _what’s that supposed to mean_?”  
The man sighed and stepped closer. “The United Network Command for Law and Enforcement,” he held out a hand, “Napoleon Solo, at your service.”  
April Dancer shook it warily.


End file.
